Personal Trainer Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  PERSONAL TRAINER

  MIA CARSON

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the author.

  COPRIGHT 2018 MIA CARSON

  Contents

  Prologue

  Tanya

  Neil

  Tanya

  Neil

  Tanya

  Neil

  Tanya

  Neil

  Tanya

  Neil

  Tanya

  Neil

  Tanya

  Neil

  Tanya

  Neil

  Tanya

  Neil

  Tanya

  Neil

  Tanya

  Neil

  Tanya

  Neil

  Epilogue

  BONUS #1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  BONUS #2

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Tanya Jacobs sat on her father’s couch as they watched the 2012 London Summer Olympic Games. It was their traditional Sunday afternoon lunch together, and he’d made what he called his ‘world famous…if only the world knew about it’ chili. Chili traditionalists would probably turn their noses up at it because it had—gasp—beans in it, but she loved it. It was her favorite chili. Not only was it delicious, but it had been liberally seasoned with love, which made it taste better still.

  They were watching the men’s gymnastics. She tried not to miss that, or the men’s swimming events either. Not because she was that interested in the sports, but because all the men were delicious in the extreme. Even at twenty-three, she would never admit to her father she was watching only so she could see their oh-so-sexy bodies and ogle the bulges in their skin-tight suits.

  She liked men who looked like men. She preferred hers tall, dark, and muscled, and if he was packing a little something extra down below, that didn’t hurt either. The gymnasts had her ideal body type: ripped and cut just like she liked. The power lifters and body builders were too bulky, but the gymnasts, and to a slightly lesser extent, the swimmers, were just right.

  The problem with the gymnasts was they were short. Even though she was only 5’2” and petite herself, or ‘fun-sized’ as her dad called her, if the guy was under 5’10”, she wasn’t interested. Still, when the men were on the floor, and you couldn’t tell they were only a few inches taller than her, she could dream and drool.

  Next up on the High Bar, the talking head on the television announced, is the American, Neil Gibson.

  That’s right, Curt. This kid has earned his way to this event. At just over six feet tall, many considered him too tall to compete at this level, but he has done a standout job for the American team.

  That’s right, Jim. He’s already won Gold on the Parallel Bars and Silver on Pommel Horse.

  Right. This is his final event at these games, so you know he’ll go all out.

  He certainly has the skills to take home the Gold in this event.

  That’s right, Curt. He’d have won Gold in the U.S. Nationals in this event though he hadn’t stuck his dismount.

  At this level, even that little step back he had was enough to cost him.

  That’s where his height really affects him, by slowing his rotation just that much.

  If he can score a 16.275 or better here, he’ll have another Gold. Let’s watch and see if he can do it.

  Tanya watched as Neil went through his routine, the commentators praising and critiquing his performance. To her untrained eye, his routine looked like every other one she’d seen, but she was silently rooting for him, and the talking heads had little to say except praise.

  Neil was the media darling, the aw-shucks kid from somewhere in Iowa, who was charming the pants off every woman in American, and most of the rest of the world, and goddamn did he look fine. When he was with his teammates, at six feet tall, he towered over them, but he had that same sleek, muscled build as they all did.

  He’s setting up for his dismount.

  The question is, will he go for the triple or play it safe and go to the double.

  The triple is what cost him at the Nationals. He has delivered a nearly flawless routine. I’d go with the double and stick the landing rather than risk a mistake on the triple.

  As Tanya watched, Neil flew from the bar, spinning and tumbling through the air like a dervish. He landed and stood, arms in air, a brilliant smile on his face, as casually as if he’d stepped off a curb.

  He did it! The triple-twis
ting double lay-out! That was flawless, perhaps the best overall routine we’ve seen on the High Bar in these games! He should be very proud of himself.

  We’ll be right back to get the scores.

  “What do you think, Dad? Think he’ll win the Gold?”

  David Jacobs shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. I can’t tell the difference between the triple-twisting double-gainer and the quadruple backwards, forward butt thrust.”

  She giggled at her dad, who was always good for a laugh. “Want another bowl?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll get it. You want any more?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m good.” One bowl was plenty for her.

  When the games came back from commercial, Neil was sitting in the scoring booth with another man, probably his coach. He was all smiles.

  Here come the scores. Remember, he needs a 16.275 to take home the Gold.

  Tanya watched as the scores came in, her heart in her throat as she pulled for him. He received a 16.5, and she felt a tingle of vicarious excitement when Neil jumped to his feet, enthusiastically punching the air over his head as he jumped for joy.

  He’s done it! Neil Gibson will take home another Gold in the 2012 London Games. That brings his total medal count to three.

  That’s right, Jim. He medaled in all three of his events. That’s a real accomplishment for someone many didn’t think would even make the team.

  As the commentators yammered on, she watched as Neil hugged an older man and woman, probably his mother and father. A woman with a microphone pulled him aside to talk to him about his routine. For the first time in this event, the woman wasn’t taller than the competitor. She barely heard what Neil said as she took a pull on her beer.

  She smiled as she set her beer aside and scooped up another spoon of chili. She wouldn’t mind if he performed a routine on her. She wouldn’t mind that at all.

  Tanya

  My printer hummed as I printed out photo after full color photo. Luciano Mena wasn’t going to be pleased, but I didn’t care. If he didn’t want to know the truth, he shouldn’t have hired me. I didn’t have a smoking gun. I hadn’t been able to get photos of Gabriela, his wife, banging anyone, but I had enough evidence to convince anyone with two brain cells to rub together what was going on.

  I’d been following her for almost a month. Luciano had suspected for a while Mrs. Mena’s daily workouts weren’t entirely above board, and he’d shown up at Clearview Investigations to confirm his suspicions. He had good reason to be suspicious. His wife was getting a good workout alright, but it wasn’t at a gym. Los Angeles never slept, but it damn sure slept around.

  Now that I had compiled a complete file, I was turning it over to the client. I just took the photos. What happened after that was no concern of mine. I did it for the money, nothing else. It wasn’t the type of work I wanted, but it paid the bills and I couldn’t afford to be choosy since Dad died.

  I looked up when my outer door opened, Mr. Mena stepping into my small waiting area. Private investigators didn’t need large offices. If I got two new clients a month, I was doing good.

  “Mr. Mena,” I called from my office. “Come on in.”

  “You have something for me?” he asked as he entered my office.

  I tightened my lips. He didn’t sound eager to know. It was always the same way. Men and women would come in and hire me to find out if their spouse were cheating. They always thought they wanted to know, but when it came time to find out, they realized they really didn’t. Unfortunately for them, if they came to me because of misgivings, they were rarely wrong.

  “Please, have a seat,” I said as I waved him to one of my two guest chairs.

  I never understood what drove men and women to cheat. Luciano was a good-looking guy. Fit and well dressed, he owned a half-dozen car dealerships around town. He had a big house, two expensive cars, and apparently could give his wife anything she wanted. Maybe he was a complete dick at home, but that wasn’t really an excuse, in my opinion. Divorce his ass, move out, and take half his shit with you when you do, but keep your legs closed or your zipper up until the divorce is final. But no, they’d rather cheat. Now he was going to be able to throw her ass out on the street, and she would likely get nothing.

  I reached to the printer and handed him two dozen photos, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. The pictures spoke for themselves. I watched as he slowly looked through the pages, paling as he did so, his mouth hardening. I had pictures of Gabriela with four different men outside various low-rent motels around the city. She’d been careful, but I was good at my job. Very good.

  “This proves nothing, Ms. Jacobs,” Mena said, tossing the photos on my desk.

  I had to work not to laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “She met some men. Maybe they’re just friends.”

  I looked at him like he was crazy. “Four different men, five if you count that one time she did the threesome, outside a dozen different motels, and you think maybe they’re meeting to play cribbage?”

  He stared at his shoes. “It proves nothing,” he repeated softly.

  I tapped the papers into a neat pile. “Whatever. This is what there is. I can keep following her if you want, in case she makes a mistake, but short of breaking into their room while they’re indisposed, this is all the evidence there’s going to be. She’s very careful to make sure she doesn’t get caught.” I softened slightly. “I know this is hard to accept, but the evidence is clear. She’s got four different men on the line that she rotates through.” I flipped through the pictures until I found the one I wanted, the one that clearly showed her left hand. “She takes off her ring before she meets with them, and she meets with each of them on a different day, and always on the same day. I doubt if any of them know about you or each other. This is all on her.”

  Gabriela was a beautiful woman. Slim and well-built, I could see why any man would want to bed her, but she was obviously dead inside. She was using men, and sex, to fill an emptiness inside her. If she’d been cheating on Luciano with just one man, I would have said maybe it was for love, but not this.

  He hadn’t answered so I gave him a nudge. “You want me to keep following her?”

  “No! I want my fucking life back, or proof she’s fucking around, and this is what you give me? What am I supposed to do with this?”

  I held up my hands, thinking, what do you expect? “This is all there is. I can’t shoot photos through closed curtains. Take the photos and show her. She’s dirty, and she knows it. Maybe she’ll come clean and tell you everything.”

  “You’ve ruined my life!”

  “I haven’t done anything,” I corrected, my voice firm. This wasn’t the first time a client wanted to take their anger out on me. “You came to me and asked me to do the job. I’ve done it. I’m sorry you don’t like what I found, and I understand you’re upset, but remember who you’re upset with.”

  He grabbed the photos from my desk and struggled to rip them. He finally tossed half back on my desk, ripped the other half into quarters, threw them onto the floor, then repeated the procedure with the other half. I didn’t care. He’d already paid for them, and I could always print more if I wanted to. He sat, breathing hard, his face red and ugly with rage.

  I slid my invoice across the desk and ran down the itemized list with a pen. “My billable hours totaled fifty-one. Fifty-one hours at one-hundred dollars an hour is $5100. Six-hundred and twenty-six miles at sixty cents a mile, $375. There’s another $68 in miscellaneous expenses. Copies of the receipts are attached. That comes to $5543. You paid for twenty hours as a deposit, that’s two-thousand dollars, which leaves a balance of $3543. Make your check to Clearview Investigations, or I accept debit, Visa, MasterCard, and Discover.”

  “I’m not paying it!”

  I leaned back in my chair with a sigh. “Mr. Mena. You signed a contract and the addendum agreeing for up to sixty hours. I’ve done the job you requested and provided you with photographic evidence of
your wife’s infidelity. Don’t make this worse than it already is. If you don’t pay me, I’ll take you to court and I’ll win. You’ll end up paying me now, or later, and if it’s later, it will cost you more because you’ll be paying my legal expenses as well. Your choice, but I’d recommend paying now.”

  “I’m not paying you shit! You ruin my life and expect me to pay you? You can forget that!”

  “Have it your way. I’ll see you in court.”

  “You fucking bitch!” he snarled as he jumped to his feet. “Are you threatening me?”

  I remained in my seat, trying not to escalate the situation, but I pushed back from the desk to gain a little room and prepared to defend myself. “I am in no way threatening you, Mr. Mena. But you’re in breach of contract, and I’m informing you that I will exercise my legal right to collect payment. You either need to sit down and get control of yourself or you need to leave.”

  He started around my desk and I jumped to my feet. “Mr. Mena! Luciano! You need to stop what you’re doing!”